Part 1: Diplomacy (1556)

1.

“All hail Abbakka Devi, first of the name ‘Abhaya Rani’ and the first Tuluva Chowta queen of Ullal”.

In a moment, the gaze of a hundred eyes became fixed upon her.

With a sigh, she entered the throne room, taking one nimble step at a time. Men of various backgrounds surrounded and encapsulated her field of vision. There were scarred men wearing war-torn outfits, bald elders with wisps of white hair sprouting from their pallid faces, the council ministers, garbed in luxuriant clothing as their positions permitted.

And then there were the Whites.

His were the blue eyes that seemed to peer into Abbakka’s form, examining carefully from bodice to naked feet, the one known as Admiral Dom Alvaro da Silveira of the Portuguese inquisition division based in Goa.

The man was a sight to behold, to say the least. On a squarish Caucasian face, his rat-like eyes appeared as colourful dots paving the way to a fantastically broad handlebar moustache. His lanky frame boasted a cerulean blue coat with numerous flamboyant medals dangling from the left pocket, and a pair of body-hugging white trousers to complete the package. Surrounding him in all directions stood four soldiers, deprived of their muskets before being permitted into the royal court.

Maintaining scrutiny, Abbakka passed them and made herself comfortable on the throne.

“By the behest of her grace, proceedings of the royal council may now commence.”

“So, you have come to offer a truce, is that correct?”

The Admiral could sense a hint of jest in her voice, but nonetheless, he spoke up.

“Yes, your highness. As expected of a woman of your stature, you already predicted-”

“Oh, please spare me your repulsive flattery, sir. You know as well as I that you are in no position to demand said truce. Rather it is I who offers it to you out of pity.

The build-up of rage on the Admiral’s face was explicit, but she continued.

“Since YOU are the ones who have been defeated amidst trying to invade MY homeland, my terms are simple. Tuck your tails in between your legs and run back to the viceroy. Let him know that as I have repeatedly mentioned, he shan’t expect any ‘cartaz’ from me and that Ullal is a sovereign kingdom with the right to freely trade with whichsoever realm that she chooses!”

Blue in the face, the chagrined Admiral stormed out of the courtroom muttering foreign abuse, with his minions not far behind.

Upon the departure of the Portuguese envoy, an imminent cacophony broke out inside the courtroom. A multitude of aggrieved and aroused voices reverberated across the confines of the unostentatious hall turned fish market, squabbling and bickering with one another.

Abbakka had expected this to happen. Irrespective of the urgency of affairs, the peoples of Ullal were not used to undertaking such radical measures, especially under the banners of a woman. The Chowta tradition of matrilineage was but a mere façade to camouflage the grasps of male dominance, and she had been well cognizant of this fact as a little girl.

But, in hindsight, this deep-rooted fear of the colonisers in the hearts of the peoples of Tulu Nadu, was a direct consequence of the shortcomings of her predecessor, Tirumala Raya.

Tirumala Raya the Third was Abbakka’s uncle, her sole guardian, and an irreplaceable source of solace when her mother passed away. A force of learning to be reckoned with, it was he who laid bare in front of her, the intricacies of ruling the small, albeit economically strategic, capital of Ullal. Whether it be the nuances of diplomacy or the art of deploying the destructive ‘Agnibana’, Abbakka was tutored in all such aspects as befits a competent ruler. But alas, every being is flawed in some manner, and so was he.

Failing to rule with an iron hand, his inaction played a key role in allowing the Portuguese to ransack and colonise the Southern coastal kingdoms beginning from Goa, and all the way to Mangalore, a nearby port town flourishing from hefty trade with various nations. There, they built a secondary military base (the major one being in Goa) and monopolized all trade routes leading to Tulu Nadu. Then onwards, to trade and avoid having their lands plundered and women enslaved, the local rulers were to pay an exorbitant fee as tribute.

And as if to add fuel to the fire, her uncle had her marry the cowardly Lakshmappa Arasa Bangaraja, a Tuluva king so servile that he had permitted the Portuguese to hold base at Mangalore, his very own capital!

Abbakka silently cursed herself for having ignorantly consented to the marriage. If only her uncle hadn’t passed away right after her coronation, she would have, in some way or the other, talked him out of her ludicrous matrimony.

2.

“Rani Sahiba, as requested, a comprehensive report of today’s clash with the Whites.”

Abbakka focussed her attention back on the present and nodded. She had assumed she knew better than to dwindle her energy in remorse of past events, but that was not the case.

General Ballal, her most experienced and battle-hardened warrior, presented himself before the dais.

“Your majesty, as you had correctly proposed, the Portuguese were not expecting much of a retaliation. Their primary force consisted of a carrack carrying roughly 50 infantrymen. A much smaller galley was used to carry arms and other paraphernalia. Scout reports suggest that the fleet was stationed on the Netravati, just a few kilometres north of the Kadri bank. The Mangalore stronghold on the other side of the river is likely responsible. Choice of weapon was Musket, although they are cumbersome to reload, and was no match for the agile Billava bowmen.”

“And the casualty count?”

“Eight Billavas and five Mogaveera fishermen, your majesty. We had used the assistance of the latter to launch an ambush from the rear.

“Please ensure that their rites are performed as their cultures demand, and provide ample aid to their families. As it is, we are indebted to the local tribes for providing militia on our whims and fancies. And I strongly suspect that this will not be the first and last encounter we have with the Portuguese.”

The General gave a curt bow and turned to leave.

“One more thing. Do let my husband, the Bangaraja, know that I wish to meet him once before he sets sail for Mangalore.”

“As you command, your majesty.”

By then, the atmosphere of the courtroom had mellowed down to a significant extent. The General’s fairly positive outline of the day’s events put many agitated minds at ease and perturbed qualms to rest. Various peoples had gathered there out of dread of a supposed mass Portuguese invasion. But now they were beginning to warm up to the fact that Abbakka’s military prowess was truly a force to be reckoned with- Ullal had been successful at dispelling the Whites even before their powerful feudal lord, the great kingdom of Vijayanagara, had taken any such action.

Finding the moment opportune, two cloaked and hooded men made their way through the throng and approached Abbakka. Upon unravelling their form, she became certain of their allegiance. They wore long-sleeved cream-coloured tunics and keffiyehs on their heads, a commonplace attire among the Arab Moors.

“May peace be upon you, your grace. We are merchant travellers, hailing from humble origins in the shadows of the Iberian Peninsula. At this moment, we present ourselves as messengers of the great Zamorin of Kozhikode.”

Without pause, the second emissary continued.

“We had been sent as discreet observers to determine your standing in the course of this budding resistance. His highness has taken a keen interest in the recent developments that concern your capital of Ullal.”

“As is common knowledge, Kozhikode is the largest and richest exporter of spices and Calico, west of the great Ghats. We trade in bulk with Persia and the Americas and make use of sizeable galleons to do so. But, in light of the Portuguese taxing the Arabian waters, as well as the Cape of Good Hope, business is no longer profitable. We-”

“And in response, the Zamorin wishes for us to do what? Clear the trade routes?”

The Arab lifted an eyebrow, mildly irritated at the interruption. But, Abbakka instantly stood up and eyed the speaker furiously.

The culprit was her royal advisor, a prideful and impudent man with a penchant for speaking out of turn. She had half a mind to relieve him of his title, but settled with ordering him out of the premises.

“I gravely apologise for my subordinate’s disrespect. Please continue.”

“As I was saying, we are also well aware of the fact that, after the death of Krishnadevaraya, Vijayanagara continues to lose power and dominion over their territories. It won’t be long before they become confined in the pages of a history book, and Ullal gains sovereignty. In this regard, the great Zamorin wishes to bolster your finances, as well as provide a legion of elite warriors. Consider it a token of good faith.”

Abbakka took a moment to analyse the proposal.

Indeed, it was quite a tempting one. She had expected such a move by the trade-driven kingdoms under threat of economic deprivation, but the powerful Zamorin of Kozhikode being the initial acting party was a surprise. This was a path that Abbakka had to tread very carefully. Being an economic powerhouse, it was Kozhikode itself that welcomed Vasco De Gama in 1498, the first White to ever set foot on the holy lands. Therefore, she could not refute the strong possibility of the Zamorin being a Portuguese co-conspirator.

Speaking no more, Abbakka stepped down from the dais and amiably placed her palms on the emissaries’ shoulders.

“Sirs, I am certain that you’ve had a long and gruelling journey. Please rest at the palace tonight and enjoy our hospitality. Expect a firm reply from me by tomorrow evening.”

3.

Having had the Arabs led away, Abbakka addressed the court.

“I’m afraid that will be all for today. These administrative matters excessively deprive me of valuable time I must be spending with my daughters. As for the Zamorin’s proposal, we reconvene early tomorrow morning to determine the course of action.”

With that, she left the courtroom.

On her way to her daughters’ chambers, she enquired as to the whereabouts of her husband, and then changed her mind, heading to the pavilion instead. The Bangaraja oft tended to be stubborn regarding such paltry matters.

She found him sitting on a lavishly ornamented couch of his bringing, with a refreshment in hand. The wooden frame was studded with gemstones, and the cushions were embroidered with what seemed like a long snake-like creature with wings. Abbakka had never seen anything like it ever before.

“Oho, so the busy Abbakka Chowta finally makes an appearance. You would dare to make me wait, woman? I have important matters to attend to back in Mangalore!”

Abbakka bit her tongue and calmly replied.

“Forgive my impertinence, my lord. The citizens were frantic after today’s attack and I had to placate their fear. More importantly, I have come today with a humble request. Please drive out the Portuguese from the Mangalore fort. Do not allow those mongrels anywhere near your territory, and establish a strong stance against their colonial ideology. With your help-”

“DO NOT TEACH ME HOW TO RULE!”

The Bangaraja’s florid face puffed up as he continued.

“Must I remind you of the fact that they razed Goa to the ground?! Everybody has been forced to convert, and those who didn’t comply have been tortured and killed in a grisly fashion. Bloody hell, they even made their families watch as men were burnt at the stake! Do you think we will be spared if we resist? Far from it! We would be routed!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Abbakka observed that the employees had begun to take notice of her husband’s cacophonous racket. They were likely to be spying on their conversation, hiding around discrete corners and behind closed doors.

Red in the face, she found it difficult to remain placid.

“My lord, please listen to me. As of today, I have demonstrated that we can fight back! Even the Zamorin of Kozhikode has offered us support. If we choose to remain idle, in a few years we would be facing annexation. After that point, there is no return. We would lose our dignities and our very identities as the sovereigns of Tulu Nadu. We would become the very pathetic cogs in a system that allows this oppressive colonialism to exist! How can you, being a proud Banga Arasa, in the name of your venerable fathers and forefathers, allow this to happen?!”

At this point, the Bangaraja was visibly seething with rage. With a heave, he stood up his rotund form and promptly hurled his glass of refreshment at Abbakka. Quick on her feet, she nimbly dodged the humiliating projectile and it landed with a clang on the stone floor.

This was it, no more disrespect could she hope to endure.

With a subtle click of her fingers, she summoned the nearby sentinels and commanded them to throw out the Bangaraja, along with his extravagant belongings.

“If ever again I see your craven face within the boundaries of Ullal, you will be beheaded. This, I promise you.”

“Abbakka-what in the-No, you dare not-,” stammered the mortified king as he was hauled out of the premises.

Part 2-Retribution (1568)

4.

On one cloudy and downcast evening, a day seemingly like any other, Abbakka found herself unable to enjoy the Yakshagana.

The stage was set before a vast crop field surrounded by spectators seated in a semi-circular arc across the front. Owing to the unpredictable monsoon rains, the entire area had been covered with a broad awning, held together using hemp rope and bamboo poles garlanded with mango leaves.

Abbakka had seated herself in a separate group far behind them, flanked by her modest royal guard. In her youth, she had spent hours deriving pleasure from various forms of Bayalata and travelling theatres, oft accompanied by her mother and uncle. Oh! Such magnificent performances they had been; visually appealing depictions of her favourite Epics, enacted by lithe, graceful men and vivacious costumed women. Even as she closed her eyes, she could recall fragments of those memories, with receding rhythms of high pitch drums and Carnatic melodies in the background.

“Do you not find this rendering of Koti and Chennayya to your taste, Rani Sahiba?”

Abbakka managed a wan smile and replied.

“That is not the case, young Ballal. Many a time have I praised the fluid performances of these particular artistes. It’s just that-”

She stopped and sighed. And then heaved herself up on her feet; an action which seemed to become harder and harder with the passing years.

“Come now, let us not tarnish this event with morose conversation. We’ll speak on the way back.”

Abbakka led her guard through the sandy banks of the Netravati, it being a longer, but, much more soothing stroll. Amidst the roar of the nearby river, fewer and fewer rays of light penetrated the murky sky with each passing moment.

Did the Netravati flow with as much vigour during her childhood?

Of course, it did. She assured herself that it had been that way since time immemorial, and unlike her aching body, would carry on struggling far into the dark ages.

Dhiraj Ballal, the dutiful son of her general, walked beside her. A mere boy of nineteen, she had found him to be an amusing change of pace, given her daily exchanges with spineless seniors incessantly demanding Ullal’s surrender.

“Rani Sahiba, is it true that Vijayanagara has finally been defeated in battle?”

Abbakka struggled to hide her grimace. Tragic news tended to spread unusually fast, it seemed.

“Yes, the noble Krishnadevaraya’s successor perished at Talikota. And with that, our last hope of recovering from this decade-old Portuguese tyranny.”

“But, do we not continue to replenish our fallen soldiers with those of the Zamorin? And I also heard that the Bijapur Sultan of Ahmed Nagar offered his infantry to our aid.”

“Both have started to back out from our respective agreements, hardly expecting the Whites to strike us more than twenty times after I parleyed the truce. And each attack has cleaved sizeable portions off our once voluminous battalion.”

This seemed to quiet down the boy for the rest of the journey. But, upon reaching the Ullal fortress, he spoke again;

“Still, Rani Sahiba, the fact remains that your leadership has successfully routed them on so many occasions. Such a marvel is not to be taken lightly! As my father says, we must maintain our dignity and serve the motherland at all costs. And if we rekindle these sentiments in the peoples of Tulu Nadu, we may yet be victorious!”

The very next instant, before Abbakka could express her agreeability to him, a soldier rushed to their location, frantic and terror-stricken.

“Your majesty, the Portuguese have invaded!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.

The Whites again? But how? It had only been a few months since the last clash. How in Mahavira’s name were they able to regroup so rapidly?

“Where is my father, General Ballal?!” Dhiraj questioned the visibly shaking soldier.

“The General has hastily put together a host of fighters to hold them off. He is the one who sent me to bring back your majesty. But, it’s pointless!”

“What?” Abbakka snapped out of her meandering thoughts. “What do you mean by pointless?”

“The Portuguese troops have already penetrated the initial line of fortifications. We were completely helpless! The citizens’ dwellings are being pillaged and burnt, women and children captured to be slaves!”

Perhaps for the first time in her 43 years of existence, Abbakka felt a crack in her resolve; a tiny sliver of doubt beginning to compete with her ironclad determination. The situation had grown to such stupendous proportions that she felt her grasp weakening by the second.

It was Dhiraj the General’s son who chose action over contemplation.

“Hurry soldier! Take us to my father at once!”

“But…but,” the soldier stuttered, his teeth clattering.

Abbakka glanced at Dhiraj’s face, and then at the soldier. No wonder she had taken a liking to the boy.

With a swift gesture, she motioned the soldier to lead the way. Knowing better than to argue, he turned and darted back through the entrance, this time with Abbakka and Dhiraj at his heels. As they passed the citadel and meandered through numerous gardens and pavilions, the harrowing screams of her peoples and the sounds of musket fire became audible to Abbakka. People of various occupations scurried all over the fortress, the terror being all too visible in their faces.

Upon noticing her, they hastened towards her, as bees are attracted to flowers.

“PLEASE SAVE US, RANI SAHIBA!”

“ABBAKKA DEVI, THEY TOOK MY ONLY SON!”

“WHY DID YOU NOT SURRENDER TO THEM?!”

Abbakka found it unbearable to drown out their voices and carry on, the pleading voices of her citizens, begging her for deliverance.

Did she deserve to be queen? A queen who lets her people suffer?

And then at once, her hand was grasped by a firm and powerful grip, leading her through the tumultuous throng and up the final flight of stairs that led to the battlements.

5.

“It was an inside job, your majesty.”

General Ballal huffed and puffed as he struggled to catch his breath. His huge frame, especially clad in heavy armour, was not built for bouts of sprinting. Surrounding him, and all across the narrow parapet, were soldiers engaged in duty. The Billavas had positioned their longbows through the rectangular gaps between the crenelated walls and were unleashing Agnibanas at the sea of Portuguese, 15 feet below them. Elsewhere, men ran to-and-fro, in and out of the ammunition storages, carrying pouches of gunpowder that powered the Agnibanas, and inefficiently hurling spears at the ones missed by the flaming arrows.

One glance at the chaos atop the fortress, and Abbakka knew that their efforts were to no avail. This was precisely the disarray that the Portuguese were taking advantage of, and now she knew the cause.

“You may be right, General. But to be rid of any ambiguity, tell me your reasons for believing so. And as for defending my fortress, you and I both know that it’s a lost cause.”

General Ballal unclasped his armour and sent his cherished helm careening about the parapet floor. It pained Abbakka’s heart to see his once valiant General reduced to such a state.

“It is all too precise, too calculated!” he thundered. “First, they took care of the river bank scouts, which would prove impossible unless they were certain of their whereabouts. And then they ambushed us using a devious stratagem that relied on knowing the exact formation of sentries outside the fortress. I assure you my liege, some rascal has snitched on us!”

Indeed. Some lowlife scoundrel had taken the side of the Portuguese, and Abbakka was fairly certain of his identity.

But alas, his retribution lay not in her hands. Soon, she would be martyred alongside her brave soldiers, while the traitor-

“Run.”

She stared at her General, her eyes wide as saucers.

“You heard me right, my liege. Run! The walls would be perforated any minute now. I will send some men behind you, and then hold back these White demons with all my might.”

Abbakka’s rage knew no bounds.

“HOW DARE YOU UTTER SUCH A FILTHY NOTION IN FRONT OF ME! ARE YOU TRULY PROPOSING THAT I RUN WHILE MY MEN DIE?!”

“Not at all. What I mean to say-”

The cannonball was swift. It smashed into Ballal’s body and sent him hurtling across the floor, shattering his right shoulder and amalgamating his entrails. And lest they be the cause of the Portuguese breaching the walls, nobody spared him a second glance. All Abbakka could do was watch as he writhed in pain and wailed like a wounded animal, blood seeping from multiple crevices.

But, amidst all the suffering and convulsive fits, he managed to wheeze out his final words to his petrified queen.

“Run. Please run. Take my unit. I know that you will bring us justice. Only you….”

For roughly nine hours, or what seemed like an eternity to Abbakka, they remained in a concealed storage chamber beneath a decrepit Beary masjid; she and her unit of a hundred strong. Never intended to accommodate this many people, they were all huddled together in the meagre expanse of a commoner’s bed-chamber, sweating like pigs and suffocating from lack of ventilation.

Nobody moved a muscle.

But amidst the narrow confines of the dark and hallowed space, a certain rage began to culminate in their weary hearts; a product of long drawn oppression and losses endured. And as a parched throat welcomes the soothing presence of water, the men hungrily devoured the revenge proposition that their queen espoused.

Upon the tenth hour, Abbakka finally received word from a patrol group she had dispatched earlier. She steadily emerged outside; a chasm of pitch darkness, and took in a delightful gulp of much-awaited fresh air. In her youth, this masjid had been readily frequented by Beary people in her employment, a Tuluva Muslim tribe with a flair for boulder work. But, throughout the years, it had become more of a refuge for peoples wishing to escape the extreme summer heat, owing to its entirely wooden constitution.

Luckily for her, its structure was fairly dilapidated and drab, allowing them to avoid disclosure for the time being.

One by one, her soldiers arose from their once potential tomb; carrying various weapons hastily amassed before their escape. They had procured swords, maces, spears, longbows, and most importantly; anchor lines fitted with light metal wedges on one end, their sole means of infiltration.

After that, the scouts announced findings of import. Suffice to say; more than their expertise in stealth, they were aided by the Portuguese guards making use of torches, with the latter acting as beacons in the cloud-laden night. This enabled them to sweep through the entire fortress perimeter in a matter of minutes, procuring more time to attack before sunrise.

At last, Abbakka felt some of her mental strength coming back to her. She had not lost her honour, nor had she forsaken her dignity by evacuating when she did. She had done it for a greater cause, the cause of justice.

Chest swelling with pride, she addressed her disorganised but valiant company of loyal men;

“Sipahis! Today, we make a stand. By escaping, we have not dishonoured our fallen fathers and mothers, or brothers and sisters; but rather provided their restless souls, a chance of savouring long-awaited retribution. Today, we finally bring down the hammer of justice on the White Demons, so that forevermore, they remember the one kingdom that didn’t yield and the one woman that drove them out!”

The modest ovation that followed was music to her ears.

6.

‘Joao Peixoto’- This was the name of the Portuguese general who had led the armada, acting under direct orders of the Viceroy of Goa. Furthermore, the Ullal siege being only the first of many, he had taken up temporary residence at Abbakka’s fortress with plans to resume course the next day.

Having procured enough valuable information from him, she promptly stabbed the White captive’s heart and threw him overboard. It seemed as if his body was but a mere cherry on the top of countless others, her beloved citizens now drifting lifelessly in the pond by the fortress.

Her wrath refuelled; Abbakka urged her discrete contingent of men to propel their boats faster. Upon reaching the East wall (found to be unguarded), she was the first one to scale it, fastening her anchor line contraption on one of the crenelations. And as was planned, her bowmen and lancers followed her, while the remaining unit positioned themselves at various hidden locations across the fortress’s perimeter.

Atop the battlements, the bowmen mimicked the ground unit and Abbakka stealthily entered the Stygian fortress with fifteen lancers. Finding her immediate surroundings to be clear, she positioned them throughout the staircase and moved on by herself.

So far, everything had transpired smoothly. She wondered if the Tirthankaras had finally answered her fervent prayers.

The very next instant, she caught sight of two Portuguese soldiers heading her way. Indeed, this time the Gods had been kind to her.

Intentionally exposing herself, Abbakka let out the most tremendously intense scream she could muster up, alerting every single Portuguese soldier of her presence in the fortress. And as anticipated, she was soon dragged away by an entire host of them, eager to present her before Peixoto, and unknowingly securing their demise. Having completed her task, Abbakka followed along, meek as a lamb.

Peixoto turned to be a man as peculiar as Admiral da Silveira, much to her amusement. He was snugly nestled in one of the seats of her reasonably lit courtroom; intently scouring some form of paperwork, his legs so short that they dangled above the ground.

Upon spying her, he leapt down and approached her, his oversized head reaching no higher than her chest. He wore a plump red doublet with a body-centred brooch and white pants to match.

“So, you’re the annoying ‘cochorro’ they call Abbakka, eh?” he taunted her while scanning her form with beady eyes.

“As expected of Indian filth, you could not even manage to stay hidden. Oh, but I wonder how you managed that in the first place.”

He eyed the throng of uneasy soldiers behind her.

“Seems to me, even my bunch of ‘cochorros’ need to be taught a lesson today.”

“Don’t bother, sir.”

The General glanced back at Abbakka, his brows adopting a subtle furrow.

“What did you say just now?”

“Simply that there is no need to penalize the poor fellows. They’re dead already.”

And with that, she let out another guttural shout, but this time it comprised of one word- ATTACK

All at once, there broke out a commotion among the Portuguese standing by the entrance. And before Peixoto could even fathom what had occurred, Abbakka’s lancers charged into the room, puncturing soldiers from pillar to post.

Taking advantage of the mayhem, she pulled out from her blouse a broken shard of glass and vehemently slit the General’s throat. And as he stumbled around in wait of his demise, hot blood leapt out and splattered all over Abbakka, giving her dark skin a sublime reddish hue.

A cool and invigorating wind embraced Ullal that morning. And the long-drawn clouds parted ways to reveal a vermillion Sun.

Abbakka quietly lay on the grassy floor of her garden, neither thinking nor looking, just being. Beside her sat Dhiraj Ballal, supposedly in mourning of his martyred father. She had noticed him back at the masjid but had not gotten a chance to interact with him, amidst the tensions of the upcoming battle.

“You’re a genius, your majesty. The bowmen and my ground unit combined, wiped clean any escapees. Not a single one survived!”

“Hmph.”

“So, Rani Sahiba, what is our next move? Procuring their ships stationed at the Netravati?”

“All in good time, young Ballal. All in good time.”

.   .   .